Our Warmth
by Quixotic-Feline
Summary: And I object, there’s quite a lot of warmth in our relationship… but just because other people don’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not there. It’s private, intimate. It’s ours.


"Oh, Severus, I'm _so _glad you finally agreed to have this party! I'm positive that you'll have fun, and everyone will be so glad to see you after all the time you spent cooped up in that study of yours – isn't this tie lovely? I knew you'd like it. It really does suit your complexion… I mean, red and green reindeers compose well with everything, but with you… ah, nevermind. Hey! Guess who else will drop by the party! Neville and his wife! Isn't that lovely? And Molly said she would bring her famous potato sala - oh, to _HELL _with this damn tree…"

Severus Snape watched with a mixture of amazement and nausea as his wife of three years scurried over to the drooping Christmas tree, morsels of popcorn getting caught in her stylishly messy 'do as she attempted to set the tree right.

For the past two weeks Hermione had been barely recognizable to Snape: happily decorating their home with the most ostentatious, tacky Christmas decorations Britain could possibly produce, inviting a flock of people (most of which Snape was decisively not fond of, and who were decisively not fond of Snape either) and being uncharacteristically giddy and girlish… all the time.

Now, though it seemed unlikely, Snape was a fairly understanding and accepting husband. Hermione had had many phases (he still remembered her unexpected passion for pottery and her out of the blue love of yoga), but this time… something was different. Something was not right.

Snape was roused from his musings by Hermione's voice.

"Honey, do you think you could… help me!" the last bit came out a muffled squeak as the tree snapped cleanly in half, branches obscuring his wife from view.

"Hermione!" he cried, rushing over to the wreckage.

"Damn, damn, damn! Stupid, _blasted _tree!" she howled furiously after Snape had thrown the tree-half off of her.

"I can spell it back to normal," Snape offered softly, gently grasping her hand and pulling her to her feet.

"No! It won't be the same… it won't be… made with_ love_!" she blubbered, covering her face with her hands. Snape really didn't understand what in _Merlin's _beard she was talking about, and was shocked to hear her sniffle wetly into her hands.

"Hermione, are you… crying?" he asked, simultaneously disbelieving and concerned. She spun around quickly, her back to him, delicate shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

"Darling, what is it?" he asked, a rare note of tenderness and worry in his voice. He placed a firm hand on her shoulder and gently turned her to face him.

Eyes red and unshed with tears, she fell into his chest with a sob. Arms immediately winding around her small frame, he stroked her disarrayed hair, humming soothingly into her ear. After she had calmed, he pushed her away far enough to look at her face.

"Hermione, darling, what is wrong with you? Why are you acting this way?" he inquired, black eyes pleading with her to come clean. The brunette sighed, stepping away from his embrace.

"I'm so sorry I've been acting this way, Severus… I've just been trying to be a good wife," she told him quietly, eyes trained on the shiny points of his boots.

"But you are a good wife. Nay, a _wonderful _wife," he added with a smirk. "What's not to like? You clean, cook, serve me…"

Laughing, she smacked him playfully. Sobering, she looked up at him with an earnest expression.

"I've talked with my mother, and she said that there wasn't enough warmth in our relationship. That we weren't a normal couple. It bothered me." She shrugged.

Sighing, Snape cupped his wife's face and gave her one of his best piercing looks.

"Of _course _we aren't normal. We aren't normal people. We've been through things normal people don't even dream about. And I object, there's quite a lot of warmth in our relationship… but just because _other _people don't see it, doesn't mean it's not there. It's private, intimate. It's _ours._"

By the time he was done speaking, a tear slid down Hermione's cheek. Wordlessly, she stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him.

"You're right," she whispered against his lips. "I'm warm."

A/n: Just a short little story. Not the best, I know... it's just a sweet little thing I typed up in the car on my way to Cracow. My cousin read it and thought it was cute.


End file.
